Sons
by Kiarene
Summary: [Yaoi, incest] For the affection of a certain prince. (Vegeta x Mirai). Complete.
1. 1st scrawling, Chibi's POV

Author:              Kiarene

Pairings:           Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer:        Don't own DBZ

Published:         26th April 2003

Archive?            Please ask first 

Sons 

1st Scrawling

Chibi Trunks' POV 

I lie sprawled out on the large bed, chattering away about my day. I hear the shower start up again and I shut up for a while, knowing Dad won't be able to hear me. 

He doesn't say anything, but I know he's listening. Sometimes, after he comes out, he would remark sarcastically on something I said. I talk a lot and I know most people don't take me seriously because I'm just a kid. But Dad takes me seriously, well, some of the time. Seriously enough to beat the shit out of me during training. More often than other adults, and that's very important to me. 

Mum pampers me all the time, buys me whatever I want and plays with me if she's free, but to her, I'm still her baby boy. She's always nagging at Dad whenever I get hurt during training; I think if she could have her way, she'd rather I not train at all. Heh, but if there's one thing Dad's adamant about, it's training. According to him, a Saiyajin must fight. It's in our blood. Mum says we get all worked about fighting precisely because we train so much; if we didn't train, we wouldn't feel the urge to fight so much. 

It's one of those chicken-and-egg questions. I don't know who's more right, but I think I know what Dad means. Sometimes, especially when the moon is full, I feel very restless and irritated, and I go around like a bear with a sore thumb, picking for a fight. 

The shower stops and after a while, Dad steps out, drying his hair vigorously. "You're especially noisy tonight. And isn't it your bedtime?"

I turn my head towards him with a grin. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

"No." 

"But why not? Your bed is very big and comfortable and..." 

"No." Dad's using that final, flat tone and I shut up, knowing there's no wheedling with him when he's like that. Actually, he's always like that; you can't wheedle Dad for anything. Not like Mum. But I have my ways. 

I like sleeping with Dad; he smells very nice and is very warm. Something to do with being Saiyajin I think. All the Saiyajins I know have a stronger, muskier smell than humans, especially Dad, probably because he's a full Saiyajin. At any rate, I really like his smell and the low, humming feel of his strong ki that wraps around us when I sleep with him. His bed's very large and comfortable, and since he has his own bedroom, I don't see why he can't share with me. I don't take up much space after all. 

I continue lying down, watching Dad as he wraps the towel around his waist. Sitting down in the armchair, he picks up a book to read. Smirking, I close my eyes and reach for a pillow to hug, pretending to sleep. It worked before; sometimes if I fall asleep on his bed, Dad doesn't bother to carry me back to my room and lets me sleep here for the night. Of course I will get a scolding in the morning, but I don't mind. 

Lying there quietly for some time, I am about to really fall asleep when I feel a small ki spike at the window, just before I hear a soft tapping. The ki feels familiar... Who? 

Cracking open my eyes slightly, I see a tall, purple-haired guy slip in through the window. _Mirai?_ What's he doing here?

I've seen him before. Mum told me his story; how my future self came back to warn us and help us fight against the androids. Sometimes, he comes back to visit, but what's he doing here at this time of the night? Is he in trouble? Does he need help? But he doesn't appear to be injured or anything.

Dad seems relaxed and not at all surprised by Mirai's sudden visit. Putting down his book, he stands up with a small smile. "Any particular reason for dropping by?"

Mirai grins. "Do I need one? I just missed you."

Dad laughs softly and walks towards me. "Go take a bath first. I'll put the brat back in his room." I immediately close my eyes again.

"Does he sleep with you often?"

"No. But the brat likes to sleep here, even though he has his own bedroom." Dad pries the pillow away and picks me up. I pretend to be asleep still, hoping that he would allow me to stay. No such luck. Dad starts walking out, holding me as I lie limply in his arms. 

I hear Mirai laughing softly as he heads towards the bathroom. 

As Dad walks over to my room next door, the door sliding open as it detects and confirms his identity, I turn in his arms and hug him tightly around the waist, muttering drowsily," Eh, Daaaad... I really want to sleep with you tonight."

Pressing my face to his bare chest, I can smell the fresh lemon scent of the shower gel and Dad's unique smell. It is musky and comforting, like Dad. He may seem scary and mean to others, but to me, it represents security. 

Lowering me to my smaller bed, he gently but firmly pries my arms from his torso. "Not tonight, brat. Tonight," he starts snickering as if he found something really funny. "...tonight is your future self's turn."

I lie on my own bed quietly for a while as I watch Dad exit my room, my curiosity piqued. What did Dad mean? And just why was Mirai here? He traveled all the way back just to sleep with Dad?? I wanted to sneak out, but Dad would definitely detect my ki. 

The head of my bed is placed against the wall between our rooms, and I scoot up next to the wall, turning my head and placing my ear to the wall. The walls are thick, but with my demi-Saiyajin hearing, I can hear the shower running and low voices, but I can't make out what they were talking about. I'm growing bored, kneeling by my headboard with my ear pressed to the cool wall, but I dare not move away in case...

Ah! The shower finally stops and I hear Mirai talking as he steps out from the bathroom, his voice becoming clearer. "...rebuilding the city now."

"No more threats?"

"Apparently not. There were a few pitiful attempts by the Red Ribbon Army, but the androids were barely of Seventeen and Eighteen's standards."

A low chuckle. "You sound disappointed."

"Well..." Mirai starts laughing too. "It's no fun. You know why."

They start talking about fighting and techniques; Dad is asking if Mirai still keep up with his training now that the androids have been defeated. A jealous anger starts to build in me; Dad's never this chummy with me. He speaks to Mirai as an equal, and there are very, very few people Dad would speak to as an equal. 

I'm outraged. It's not fair! I'm Dad's son! Mirai… he's from the future. Dad's not _his_ father! And yet, he just simply walks in and Dad's treating him like a favorite son. How dare he?

It's not fair! I was here first! I work so hard to get Dad to pay attention to me! 

"Hn." A very faint creak from the bed's springs. Dad must be sitting on the bed; his voice sounds like it's much closer to the wall. "So with the lack of opponents in your time, you came back to spar?"

"Some horizontal sparring maybe." Another faint creak. Is Mirai sitting on Dad's bed too? Extending my senses for their ki's, I can tell that they are close together. "It's been so long, I've forgotten. Show me again, sensei."

I hear a few low murmurs and some movements, as if they were shifting about on the bed. I wish I could see what's happening; my curiosity is killing me. 

"...miss you." 

"Shut up and kiss me." 

Dad?? I was flabbergasted. Wide-eyed, even though I couldn't see anything in the dark, I pressed my ear even closer to the wall to listen. I hear the squeaking of bedsprings, the rustling of cloths… 

"Mmm… you feel very nice; warm and smooth," a husky purr. "…and you smell oh so wonderful; dark spice and musky sweet…"

Shut up! I know how Dad smells… 

"You're just gonna yak?" A deep growl. 

Some wet sounds and soft laughter and murmurs and growly purrs. I wonder what they are doing; my mind conjures the image of them in bed together tussling, and my jealousy increases. I wish… 

I wish Dad would look upon me the way he did Mirai; when my future self came in through the window, Dad looked happy to see him. Whenever I disturb him, he usually has this look of annoyance on his face. 

I wish I am the one in bed with Dad right now. I…I don't know why, but the thought of sharing Dad with anyone else… Dad doesn't act that way around anyone else, not even with Mum. 

I wish Dad would hold me like he's obviously holding Mirai. 

Suddenly sickened with bitter envy, I turn away from the wall and the low voices on the other side. Curling up at the foot of my bed, as far away from _them_ as possible, I pull my blanket up around my ears and try to fall asleep. 

**~******


	2. 2nd scrawling, Mirai's POV

Author:              Kiarene

Pairings:            Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer:            Don't own DBZ

Published:             17th August 2003

Warnings:            Incest. Unbeta-ed.

Archive?            Please ask first. Currently archived at my webpage, fanfiction.net, Yaoi Hotel and a couple of yahoo lists.   

Sons 

2nd Scrawling

Mirai Trunks' POV 

I set the time machine down in the backyard, just hidden at the edge of the forest. Capsule Corps is huge, sprawling tracts of rolling grassland and pockets of greenery buffering the offices and well-equipped laboratories from the crowded city just beyond. 

In my time, the landscape is mostly ugly rubble and ruins. A sight I'm normally inured to, at least until I visit this past time-line again. It is different here, with its unusual juxtaposition of gleaming buildings and verdant vegetation, whole and vibrant and untainted with the ugly spectre of war. 

I glance around me as I wait for the time machine to shut down, taking in the sparkling multi-colored lights of the cityscape; gaudy advertisements and comforting interior lights of bustling homes, and I feel inexplicably weary. 

I'm only twenty-five, but sometimes I feel fifty. Today was one of those days, where it just seems that the work would never stop, where no matter how much we do, it doesn't seem to be enough. I may have defeated the androids five years ago, but the real battle of rebuilding was just beginning. We've lost so much… 

But I've not come here to think about such things; tonight's a rare treat for me. When things just get too much, I'll sneak back here… 

Back to Vegeta. Just for one night.  

It was perhaps a frivolous waste of precious fuel, but tonight, I didn't care. I just wanted to see _him _again. 

Vegeta. My father.  Though I couldn't think of him that way... 

When I first visited the past and saw him, I kept calling him "father", almost as if I was trying to convince or remind myself of our kinship. It was hard; though I had _this _mental image of my father ever since I found out about him, I had a hard time reconciling my expectation with reality. I never grew up with him and he was like a stranger to me, cold and bitter and distant…

A very attractive stranger who was also hardly old enough to be _my _father. Perhaps he was the father of the squalling babe in Bulma's arms (I cannot think of her, in this time-line, as mother as well), but he wasn't really my father. I gave up thinking him of 'father' and started discovering him as 'Vegeta', and _that _opened up its own can of worms. 

On his part, Vegeta was very irritated when I kept calling him father too, and it was to my delight when I found out just why.

Now, he is my lover, my mate. 

We promised to each other the night before we left the Room of Spirit and Time, and again the night before I returned to the future. We have responsibilities; I have mother and he has Bulma and his infant son, and we have agreed to wait. We hate this, but we are also of the royal bloodline and duties are very important to us. Vegeta told me once, that it was bred into our genes. I grin in amusement, remembering his subsequent insulting remarks. That was why Son Goku could leave his wife and son, even if he loved them very much, and that was also why Vegeta won't leave _his _family here. 

And so we wait, even though it is agonizing for us to be apart. 

A continuous beep startles me from my thoughts, telling me that shutdown was complete and it was safe to leave the time machine. I'm out of the machine even before the beep dies away. Flying rapidly across the lawn, my grin widens in anticipation and just a couple of seconds later, I'm hovering outside his window. 

I spike my ki and tap the window as I peer in, seeing only my mate and a small figure curled up asleep on the bed. Vegeta nods, indicating that it was safe to come in, and I slip in quietly. 

"Any particular reason for dropping by?" Vegeta puts down his book with a smile and a lascivious gleam in his eyes. 

"Do I need one?" I leer, already pulling off my jacket. I _had _been exhausted, but now I feel very revived. Kami, I missed him so much… 

"I just missed you."

"Go take a bath first." He laughs softly and crosses over to the bed. "I'll put the brat back in his room." 

I pause, looking at the sleeping boy with a pang of envy. "Does he sleep with you often?" 

"No. But the brat likes to sleep here, even though he has his own bedroom." Vegeta picks him up gently and my envy sharpens. Not because I was really jealous; he's just a _boy _and I know Vegeta has no sexual designs on him, even though we're technically the same person. No, I'm just bitterly envious because he lives _here_, with Vegeta every day. 

I laugh softly and mirthlessly, as I peel off my clothes, folding them neatly on a chair. I'm envious of myself and I wonder if he knows just how truly fortunate he is.  

Stepping under the steam with a sigh, I luxuriate under the pounding water. We don't have this back home as well; we have tepid, drizzling showers. Oh, but this… _This _is heavenly. I quickly work up a lather, almost moaning as the grime and dust of the exhausting day is removed away by the lemony shower gel that Vegeta likes. If he has a spare bottle lying around, I would nick it and bring it back with me. 

Then again, perhaps not… It would only make me heartsick for Vegeta. 

I was about to rinse off when I feel him enter the bathroom. Grinning to myself and keeping my back to him, I change my mind and continue running my hands in slow, sensual strokes over my skin, sweeping over my arms, then torso. Sinking my fingers into my hair again and massaging vigorously, I actually _purr_. 

I even wriggle my bum. 

He knows what I'm up to, but he doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he remains where he is and actually manages to strike up a calm conversation. Bastard. Sighing, I give up and push my libido down for now. We exchange news and bring each other up to date on what's happening in our lives. I rinse off, reluctantly leaving the glorious hot, _hot _water, and reach for a towel. 

He's more interested in what's happening on my side; I guess he misses the action-filled days of his youth, and soon, I'm excited as well. There's nobody back home with whom I can talk to about fighting and such stuff – mother doesn't know very much – and Vegeta's very experienced and knowledgeable. 

Backing towards the bed, Vegeta pulls me down with him. "So with the lack of opponents in your time, you came back to spar?"

"Some horizontal sparring maybe." I sense the sudden change in mood and grin, crawling on my hands and knees over him. Crouching over him, I am somewhat startled as I'm once again reminded of his slighter size. Obviously it has been too long. In my mind, Vegeta always seem to loom over me… Half-forgotten musings from a fatherless childhood I suppose.   

"It's been so long, I've forgotten. Show me again, sensei." I dip my head with a mischievous smile, automatically falling into the submissive role.

And he does. Before I could blink, he executes an impossible twist, flipping me over. A smirk plays about on his lips as he traps my wrists above my head. "Don't get cocky, boy." He grinds his hips against mine with a low growl that goes straight to my groin, and my cock jumps. 

I squirm under him, desperate for more bodily contact. "Let me go, I want to strip you… touch you..."      

For a few exasperating moments, he appears to ignore me, his smirk smug as he moves sinuously above me. I feel the urge to whine in pure frustration as I tug my hands ineffectually, my brain turning too rapidly to mush for me to coordinate. "I want to touch you… please… miss you…" 

"Shut up and kiss me," Vegeta growls in a teasing, chastising tone, and he releases my wrists. Immediately, I cup his face with my freed hands and pull him down for the kiss I've been dreaming off since I climbed into the time machine. Reality is _much _better than my imagination; the kiss is hot and wet and fierce, a reclaiming of mates, and it literally draws my breath away. 

He pulls away to nibble behind my ear and I arch my throat wantonly in invitation. My hands glide down his back, tugging his shirt free and running happily under the fabric to rediscover the silky skin underneath. 

As Vegeta works lower and lower, now licking and biting lightly at the sensitive skin of my collarbone, I tilt my head slightly and bury my nose in the crook of his shoulder, surrendering totally. If his expert touches hadn't undone me, his glorious scent would. He smells of crackling storms and exotic rainforests: powerful and spicy and musky and sweet. I absolutely love his scent, and I tell him just how much I do.

He growls, lifting his head for a moment. "You're just going to yak?" 

I lick his nose playfully. "No, I'm going to strip you and then…" 

"And then I'm going to fuck you through the mattress," he interrupts, clearly impatient, and I laugh. Of course it isn't just going to be _that_, but he always complains I talk too much in bed, that I can put my clever mouth to better use. He purrs arrogantly at that proclamation, a rumbling sound that sounds so utterly feral I feel weak. 

He sits up, dark eyes flashing as he pulls his top off. The towel is yanked from my hips and then my legs are thrown over his broad shoulders. When he tongues me, laving the sensitive underside of my cock and balls, I stiffen with a moan, back arching tautly and my fingers dig insistently into his powerful arms as I plead and demand for more.

He ignores me. 

Instead, he hoists me higher and his mouth moves yet lower, hands kneading and spreading my ass. When slick thumbs slide into me, opening me yet further, I buck and twist like a rabid animal. But I've little leverage in this exposed position and I'm completely at his mercy until I'm a sobbing, begging, _broken _heap of tingling nerves. 

Only _then_ does he relent. 

My lover lowers me back down carefully, and reaches blindly to the bedside table drawer for some lubricant while kissing me deeply again. He lowers his pants but doesn't bother to take them off completely, the tight expression on his face telling me that he is close as well. 

Me, I'm too far-gone to feel any satisfaction that I can do this to him, without actually _doing _anything to him. Instead, I'm mewing shamelessly like a cat in heat, spreading my legs wider as I writhe impatiently on the bed.  

When he slides in, a low keening moan resonates between us and I realize it came from the two of us. I sigh blissfully and wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him yet deeper. My hands slide up his shoulders, gripping tightly and he smirks down at me. My breath catches momentarily at the gorgeous sight, my gaze lingering over his handsome features, exotic and so regal…

And then he starts thrusting. Powerful, rolling motions that sent a jolt of pure pleasure lancing through me with each long stroke, a toe-curling, shivery and very carnal kind of sharp ecstasy that I want to prolong as long as I could. 

But it'd been too long, and it was just too intense, and suddenly I am there, _right there_ on the verge, the very edge…

…and then I'm falling, tumbling, free falling and screaming in bliss all the way down into the black velvet abyss. 

When I'm coherent again, I find Vegeta lying on top of me. A limp, purring, _cuddly_ bundle of heated skin, slick with a fine sheen of musky sweat, and ticklish hair. I smile, wrapping my arms around him and bask in the content, well-fucked afterglow until we slip naturally into a deeper, endorphin-drowned sleep. 

**~**

The next morning, our lovemaking was slow and tender, and my heart breaks again as I steal away quietly before the sun rose. 

**~*~**


	3. 3rd scrawling, Chibi's POV

Author:              Kiarene

Pairings:           Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer:        Don't own DBZ

Published:         12th October 2003

Archive?            Please ask first 

Sons 

3st Scrawling

Chibi Trunks' POV 

I slam against the floor, carelessly caught by a stray blast. For a moment, I didn't want to move. My body _couldn't _move, I'm sure; I ache all over, my back hurt and _burns _and I'm _sure _it's a weeping, bloody mess and oh dammit I just want to pass out so fucking badly. 

Then that moment passes and the sting subsides. My reflexes kicks in and I roll away, wincing as my back hits the floor, but I've been well-trained. Squinting through sweat-laced lashes, I ready myself in a defensive crouch, feeling as if I _simply _cannot take another attack, but knowing that I must and I can and that I _won't _have a choice in battle. 

We've been moving, sparring for hours it seems. I don't know – there's no clock in the training room and anyway, it's useless to think about the time. But I hurt all over and it _feels_ like an eternity, it always does. It's like all sensations have been compressed so each second feels heavy and aching and intense and so gloriously real. I want to collapse and yet I feel like I can sprint on; it's like I'm on freaking drugs. 

"That's enough for today."

Startled, I stare at my father, my hands still held defensively in front of me. Once, when I was very much younger, I had been caught off-guard. Only once though, and since then, I'm always wary. But Dad's already walking towards the gravity console and I relax with a wheezing sigh. 

That seemed like a relatively short session, I muse to myself as I stretch upwards, easing the tension in cramped muscles. Perhaps I _am_ getting better, so much so that it doesn't seem as torturously long now.  

As the gravity winds down, I walk towards Dad, coming to a stop behind him. Already he is talking, giving me his usual analysis of our training session, usually what I did wrong, often what he wants me to focus on in subsequent sessions, and rarely, what I did right. Those grudging words of hard-earned praise, I savour like the sweetest wine. 

Endrophins are coursing through my body and I'm still feeling high. Dad is still facing the console, his meticulous attention on the replay of our spar. Greatly daring, I lean in, closer, nearer. 

I periodically nod, making sounds of agreement or abashment. My attention is only half on the generous-sized screen and my father's words; instead, I was focused on _him_. My father. 

His deep voice washes over me, smoky and rich and exotic, with just the slightly hint of a foreign lilt. He speaks with the clear ennunciation of the educated, the smooth cadence of the cultured and the slighty sneering drawl of the elite. It just _drips _confidence and power, nothing at all like the squeaky, excited voices of the other sensei that often drop by Capsule Corps. 

My eyes rove boldly, memorising the bulge of still-pumped muscles through the soaked navy fabric. There is a dangerous leaness about him, all steel sinew and whipcord. My father never struck me as just a fighter like the rest of the sensei; there's a dark, bridled bloodthirstiness to him. A killer, a predator. Controlled, but never tamed. I've heard rumors and snide gossip, but they only served to intrigue me. While never malicious in training me, he can be ruthless, and I _like _that. Powerful, deadly, and so very, _very _erotic. 

And most of all, his scent. It's ambrosial and heady, and it softens my knees and hardens my cock. Right now, it smells like the salt-lashed gales of a stormy sea; sweaty and powerful, the singed air around him still thrumming with the sharp ozone from the energy we had thrown around. Dad explained it me once, how Saiyajins have heightened senses as compared to the Ningens. I'm not sure whether to be envious or thankful that I'm only half-Saiyajin; I would dearly love to experience the world as a full-Saiyajin, to know what Dad _really_ smells like, but I don't think I can function otherwise. 

My stomach gives a loud growl and my father stops in mid-sentence. Mortified, I mumble an apology but he brushes it off. "It was time to eat anyway." We Saiyajins don't really say that it's 'time for lunch', not when there's lunch-part-one and lunch-part-two and then just-a-bite-to-tide-us-over-till-tea.

Dad seems pleased as he turns off the gravity console, almost approving at my growing appetite. No, not just growing; it was as if my appetite had exploded after I hit puberty and even now, at fourteen, I'm easily eating five times as much as other Ningens boys my age, though I still can't handle the amount Dad can eat. Mom is alternately amused and exasperated. I can't beat Goten though; must be the 'third-class Kakarrot' genes.   

As we step out of the room, my eye catches the clock and I almost stop in surprise. We've only been in there for two hours! Normally we take at least twice as long. Immediately, my good mood vanishes. I've learned that there are very few reasons for Dad's willingness to end a training session with me early, and coupled with Dad's almost pleasant demenour the whole day, there can only be one reason. 

_HE _is coming. 

Mirai Trunks, myself from the future, an alternate time-line. He doesn't come by often, maybe once every month or two, and only for a couple of days each time, but everyone looks forward to his visits. Particularly Dad, even though he doesn't show it openly. 

But I can't stand him.

Trying to conceal the undercurrent of irritation and envy in my voice, I asked casually if Mirai is coming to visit. 

"Yes." Dad shoots me a sharp look. He is always puzzled by the unease I have towards Mirai, though I've tried hard to conceal just the depth of that animosity. The adults laugh it off as 'sibling rivalry' and Mirai had tried hard to win me over. Occasionally, Dad would want us to spar together and that, I could and would. I can barely manage to hold a civil conversation with him, but to fight, to have a chance to punch and hit him, that is easy. 

I was initially curious and fascinated by him, of course, but that positive feeling quicky turned to resentment when I realized that he was taking Dad's attention away from me. Still, it's hard to resent somebody who doesn't have a father in his own time-line, somebody who doesn't have the luxuries of life that I do, somebody who practically lives in a war-zone, somebody so pathetic. 

Then when I was about six, I found out that Mirai wasn't so damn pathetic after all; he had something I don't. 

A special kind of attention from my father, the kind I've seen between couples like Dad and Mom, or Gohan and Videl. But it wasn't exactly the same; while Mom and Dad are fond of each other, what Mirai had with Dad seemed deeper, as if they had something that Mom and Dad lacked. It wasn't as goosebumpily-mushy as the disgusting puppy-love between Gohan and Videl either; it was a kind of secret, quiet affection. 

I had been shocked and angry and so horribly envious, and yet I had also been desperately curious. 

I know what it is now, of course. Nobody knows about them except me, I'm sure. And the thought of telling anyone has never seriously crossed my mind even though I know that it was wrong, that it would be the fastest, easiest way to get Mirai away from my father. 

Because I wanted _it _too. Because I wanted Dad too.

"How long is he staying this time?" 

"Two, three days." He looks at me, dark eyes searching, as if he wanted to say something. 

An awkward pause. Everytime, I would ask the same question, and it was almost always the same answer. I try to remember; was Mom away on a business trip again? Somehow – I don't know how – Mirai seems to time many of the trips to coincide when Mom's away. Dad's cheating on Mom but I know I should be angry – any normal boy who loves both his parents would – but I don't. Heartless? Hn. I don't care. I'm my father's son. 

Thankfully, Dad remains silent. That another thing I like about him; while Mom's always trying to force me and Mirai to get along better and everyone's giving me those nauseating cheery grins and reproachful looks, Dad will just ignore this coldness between us. He doesn't think everything has to be sunshine and peaches, and I have a laughing suspicion that he thinks the situation between us is like the rivalry between him and Kakarrot, and _that's_ fine. Power rivalries between Saiyajin males is normal and healthy, I heard him tell Mom once.  

We sit down at the kitchen table, finding platters of food already prepared and wrapped. Dad pops them into the microwave while I get cold water from the fridge. And then we get down to the important business of eating and the subject is pushed away again.

**~******

I'm obssessed about my father. I've always been -- since young I've worshipped him, always hanging around him. He's so different from the rest, an engima I've taken upon myself to solve. Mom told me that from the first time I saw him when I was a baby, I was fascinated with him. Despite his attempts to ignore me, I clung to him like a bad virus and eventually, he accepted and warmed up towards me, especially after the battle with Buu. 

I know he isn't the Ningens' idea of an ideal father – I've no idea about Saiyajins – but he has always been perfect in my eyes. I love him, and somewhere along the way, I've realized that that love somehow became something more than a son's normal love for his father. 

Should I have been shocked? Aghast? I wasn't. 

Did I try to repress it? Forget about it? No. Why should I? __

I'm sure there're lots of logical reasons, ethical issues and moral dilemmas and what-not, but frankly, I don't care.  

I sit on the branch of a large tree, and from my vantage point, I can see into my father's room. Mirai's in there with Dad and the two are talking, kissing, touching. Jealousy gnaws me from inside out but I can't look away. 

If I can see them, they most assuredly can see me – but I'm feeling reckless today, swinging my legs as I stare pointedly into the room, almost daring one of them to look up and discover me. Over the years, spying on them was first a curiosity and later a habit, and I've gotten rather adept at it. 

But nothing happens – they are too engrossed with each other – and I wonder morbidly what would happen if they _did_ look up. Would Dad get angry? I can almost guarantee it; Dad's temper is well-known. Would he try to pretend that nothing's happening between them? Or would he see it as nothing wrong? 

My fingers dig into the bark angrily. What does _he_ have, that I don't? We look the same, except that he's older, but soon, I'll be old enough too. And scruffier. His clothes are always frayed and patched, and he always has this dusty, _dirty_ look to him. Suddenly, I feel uncertain, my right hand going up to run through my neatly-trimmed short hair as I look intently at _his_ hair. Sometimes he looks better groomed but today, it is long, falling past his shoulders, and ragged. 

Perhaps Dad _likes _this rugged look? I mean, Saiyajins are a warrior race; so maybe this rough-hewn, just-got-out-of-a-war-zone look appeals to him? I know I look a bit of a pouf with my limp, purple hair and my branded clothes. But I can't help being rich! Maybe if I look more like _him_…

The lights turn off and I can just make out the shadowy figures as they tumble into bed. My overactive imagination fills in the rest and I sit there for a very long time into the night.

Thinking, wondering, dreaming as I lean back against the broad trunk of the tree, fingers fumbling with the ties on my pants. 

Hissing as the night air cools my overheated cock; scowling, whimpering as I stroke myself, pleasuring myself physically, torturing myself mentally. 

_Wanting_.

Vowing that one day…. My hips cant up at _that _thought, that promise, and I find temporary relief with a quiet groan. 

Once I thought _him _pathetic, but really, the only one here who is pathetic is me. 


	4. 4th scrawling, Mirai's POV

Author:              Kiarene

Pairings:           Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer:        Don't own DBZ

Published:         14th December 2003

Archive?            Please ask first 

Warnings:         Incest. Unbeta-ed. 

A/N: Trunks is Chibi Trunks, from the regular timeline. Mirai is Mirai Trunks and he thinks of Vegeta as Vegeta, not Father. 

Sons 

4th Scrawling

Mirai Trunks' POV 

The time-machine lands softly in the darkened clearing. Though I'm bone-tired, my hands fly over the keyboard swiftly, absently in familiar motions and take the machine through the shut-down sequence.

I jump out, hitting the ground a little too hard in my tiredness. Turning back to the machine, I then did something I had rarely, if ever, done. Opening a small hatch reveals an almost comical-looking large red button. Almost expecting a fanfare or some equally dramatic event instead of the occasional cricket chirp to mark this important moment, I press it deliberately. 

My time-machine folds up into some pocket of hyperspace with a puff and I catch the white capsule neatly. Staring at the capsule, my mind drifts momentarily. Tonight's visit to Vegeta would be different. Tonight, it would be forever. I would not be going back. 

Mother died last week. 

I had been expecting it — her health had been failing steadily — but it still devastated me. I buried her quietly behind our home and informed the mayor that Capsule Corps would be donated to the city council. And that I wouldn't be coming back. I spent the last few days putting my affairs in order, and other than my personal belongings and some money, I had left everything else to various charities. Knowing that nobody would really miss me, I then left quietly. Well, they might miss having a half-Saiyajin around to carry heavy stuff like the new fountain, but they wouldn't miss _me_. 

Mother's death was bittersweet because it also means that I can now be with my mate. From the very start when we had promised to each other, we had also agreed to wait; me for Mother to pass, and him for Bulma and his son. He had told me a while back that he and Bulma had drifted apart and Bulma had got back together with Yamcha, so he is only now waiting for Trunks to come of age. When I had realized that Mother was failing, I had been spacing out my visits, so that more and more time passes back home. The last time I came a month back, Trunks had just turned sixteen. And tonight, I had set the coordinates for my younger self's seventeenth birthday. That was the official age of majority for Saiyajins, and Vegeta still followed the customs of his.. _our_ people. 

Tommorrow, Trunks would be considered a full-grown male by Saiyajin standards. Tommorrow, Vegeta would leave his family to be with me. My heart soars at that thought; it was the only thought that kept me going all through last week. It was the only thing that kept me going all through the harsh years in fact. I feel a nagging pang of guilt at separating Vegeta from his family, but I reassure myself that they would be all right. Bulma has Yamcha, and Trunks would have his own family soon. And I… 

Vegeta.

Suddenly, I cannot wait to see Vegeta again. Why am I brooding here, when I could be with him, _now_? I almost drop the capsule in my haste to pocket it and turning around and leaping into the air with an impatient spring and a blinding grin, my earlier weariness forgotten, I speed towards my mate. 

**~**

When I awoke the next morning to sunlight in my eyes, I was about to groan when I abruptly remember. Mornings used to mean parting from my mate, but no more. A silly grin steals over my face as I turn towards my lover.

"Good morning," I whisper languidly, snuggling against him. 

"Mmph." 

"Wake up. It's a very important day today." 

"Uungnh." Vegeta turns around and burrows deeper.

"When had you become so lazy?" I tease him as I tug him back around. "Back in the Room of Spirit and Time, you used to be the one who would yank me off the bed in the mornings."

Sleep-slitted eyes glare at me, a hand coming up to shield his eyes with a curse as the morning sun hits his face. "Since some idiot had decided to keep me up half the night. Dammit, who left the curtains open?"

I laugh softly, remember how eagerly he had drawn them apart last night when I arrived outside his window. "Come on, wake up. Do you remember what day today is?"

Something warm and furry whips about my waist, startling me. Although I had known that Vegeta's tail had regenerated since my last visit, it still feels a little strange. I love it though. "Of course I do," Vegeta purrs sleepily against my ear as he throws a leg over mine, trapping me snuggly. "And even more so, I want to stay. In bed." His hold tightens and he licks my earlobe. "With my mate."

"Vegeta," I whine, shifting. "I can't sleep now that I've woken up."

"So don't sleep." He bucks his hips suggestively, rubbing morning errections together. 

"I'm still sore too," I protest half-heartedly. Not that I *really* mind, but still! 

"Wimpy half-Saiyajin," he teases. "Back on Vegetasei, we had orgies that lasted *days.*"

"I don't believe that. Days?"

"Mmmm. Days." 

I run my hand down his bare hip. "Yeah well, you weren't the one who was fucked half up the wall, over the bathtub and into the mattress last night. I'm sure you aren't sore…" My fingers trail down the curve of his buttocks meaningfully.

A snicker as I find myself abruptly on my back. "The _training _would do you good." 

"I've been keeping in training. *Hard* training." Grinning, I power up slightly and flip him over my shoulder. "But you, I'm sure, could do with _practice_."

I yelp in surprise as he yanks me into a roll with him and we tumble ass over tea-kettle onto the floor. I land in an ackward sprawl, my groin in his face. A low, sensual growl that rumbles through a certain part of my anatomy was my only warning before wet, warm heat envelopes my cock. 

Oh. _Gods._

I mew out loud and shifts to a better position, canting my hips up. For me. For him to touch, to suck… 

Oh yessss. 

I bury my head in the crook of my elbow and open my legs further, writhing shamelessly. I'm still slick and relaxed from last night, and his finger, then two, slide in smoothly. 

"Still too sore?" 

I whine as the delightful suction on my cock is removed. What's he saying? I can't think when he has _that _up my ass and does _that_, twisting just like _that_. "Nonono, oh don't do that, you're not playing fair. Oh oh _oh_! Don't fucking stop you tease yesss…"

"A tease, am I?" 

I feel him shifting to kneel behind me, I can hear his warning growl, I *feel* his smug smirk, but I don't care. I push back insistently, lifting my ass up higher as I beg demandingly. "Fuck me now, oh fuck, ple~ase." 

"I'll fuck you when I want." He delivers a sharp slap to my upraised rump and I yelp again in surprise. His fingers are still curved and flicking within me as he slaps me with his other hand and the stinging pain only excites me further. Harder and harder the blows fall, his heavy tail whipping the sensitive back of my thighs, and I'm so fucking hard I swear my balls are turning blue. Pleas and gasps spill from my lips, coarse and vulgar and honest. I love it, need it just as much as the tender kisses, and I know it turns him on immensely. 

"How I want."

We are Saiyajin. 

My cock is dripping and I tried to lower my hips to rub it against the floor in relief, but his grip on my hips is unyielding. I can't make up my mind: to push back against that gorgeously hard erection I can feel bumping against my ass or to grind downwards, and I rock back and forth, panting and whimpering. When he slaps my hand away as I try to touch myself, I almost wail in frustration. "Please!"

"Please what?" God but I love that growl.

My hand reaches to my cock again, though that's not really what I want. "Or I'll come…" He swats my hand away again.

"You'll come _when _I want." A dangerous growl, one that resonates right through me all the way to my cock, just before he spreads my cheeks and slam into me. 

"_How_ I want." 

I shriek as he hits just _there_, my vision is crimson I'm squeezing my eyes so tight, and oh it's just so very good, so right and I'm screaming, coming and coming. 

He continues thrusting, short desperate strokes that batters my sensitized prostate, prolonging my orgasm exquisitely and I'm shaking, moaning, almost blacking out. I hear him grunt, shuddering violently, and then the last fond, frustrated thought I had before I passed out was that he got his way to stay in bed after all. 

**~**

It was almost noon when I finally left Vegeta's room. I had been totally limp after that last session and Vegeta had woken up before me, gloated at me a bit and tried to goad me to wake up before finally giving up. When he went to take a shower, I promptly crawled up onto the bed and fell asleep again, sticky and sore. 

Life is good. 

I had taken a leisurely shower after I woke up, knowing that most of the household would be bustling around downstairs and too busy to notice my absence from the guestroom. Still, I took a wary sweep of the corridors for ki's before I left Vegeta's room.  

Lost in happy thoughts and a wide, stupid smile on my face, I didn't register Trunks' presence until I was walking past him. Startled, I blink at him for a few moments, flustered, before I smile. "Good morning and happy birthday, Trunks." 

He look at me steadily, his eyes hard and my smile falters. He is leaning against the wall almost casually, but his carriage is stiff. For some unknown reason, he has always been cool towards me. He wasn't rude, but neither was he friendly despite my frequent attempts to get to know him better. Vegeta too was puzzled, but he shrugged it off, saying that the purple-haired boy he fathered was also raised by him, that Trunks was just being his father's son. I have my doubts but I had accepted Vegeta's reasoning. 

However, today, Trunks looks and *feels* hostile. His blue eyes had narrowed into icy slits, his mouth a thin, red slash in his pale face. And somehow I know; his masks are dropped and this is how he really feels. Feeling a bit hurt and confused, I try again. "Trunks?"

"I heard you," he drawls. "And Father."

My stomach clenches at his second sentence and I have a sinking feeling. "Trunks, do not blame your father…"

"I do not blame him," he snaps back. Straightening, his glare intensifies. "*Why* are you back here, exactly?"

I swallow hard, wondering if I should tell him. "My mother passed away."

"So you're here to take my family?"

Kami. I had a faint suspicion that the boy had been jealous, but I had never realized how jealous. What can I say? I fumble for an answer." No, I was never here to look for parental replacement figures, I mean I didn't come to look for a mother…"

"No," Trunks replies coldly. "You just came here to take away my father." 

This is getting from bad to worse. Vegeta had not told anybody of his decision to leave with me, preferring to announce it on Trunks' seventeenth birthday and then leaving immediately, saying that he didn't want the fuss of long farewells. "Vegeta would always be your father…" 

That sounds really lame.

"Spare me." Trunks sneers. He turns to leave but pauses in mid-step and his eyes snaps back to me. "I loathe you. I never really liked you, but right now, I fucking hate you."

And with that bitter, acrid statement hanging in the air, he pivots around and stalks rapidly away. I stare at his back in shock.


	5. 5th scrawling, Chibi's POV

Author:              Kiarene

Pairings: Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer:            Don't own DBZ

Published:            21st December 2003

Archive? Please ask first 

Warnings            Incest. Unbeta-ed.

Sons 

5th Scrawling 

Chibi Trunks' POV 

I can't believe I did that. 

My back to him, I allow my face to scrunch up in an expression of mixed horror and satisfaction, eyes wide and mouth stretched in a gleeful grimace.  

But I did. I *did*. 

And dammit, it felt *good*.

Carefully sauntering away as if nothing of import had taken place, meticulously pacing my steps so I do *not* appear to be scurrying away, giving that extra tiny, nonchalant swing to my hips,  I make my way down the corridor.

By the time I close my bedroom door behind me, my nerves are stretched taut and frayed thin. Why? Was it because of my short confrontation with Mirai? Partially; I had been irritable ever since I felt him arrive yesterday, and though I know what I'll find and though I *know* I'll hate it, I still found myself outside my Dad's room. 

Listening. Wanting. Hating. 

Prick. Coming here and stealing *my* father!

Bending down, I pull out a small cloth bag from under my bed and upturned the contents onto the bed. The small orange balls rolled out and even though I know they are all there, I counted them again. One, two, three, four, five, six …and… 

My hand lingers over the last sphere that had rolled into a depression beside my pillow. 

Se~ven.

I smile thinly and scoop the dragonballs back into the pouch. Glancing over at the clock, I make up my mind. Now. I can't wait; I want to make that wish *now*. It is my birthday after all and though I had initially planned to do it after the party my mother planned, why not before? In fact, the more I think about it, the better the idea seems. Shock them all, especially Mirai. 

And Dad.

His is the only reaction I am worried about. After all, the only reason I am doing this is for him. I think he would like it though. Clutching the pouch tightly, I fly out my window and then half-way across the world. I certainly did not want any curious sensei to find me before I make my wish. 

**~******

Shenlong faded and the glowing balls turned back to stone, but I'm inured to the amazing sight I had seen so many times before. Instead, I am combing my fingers through my new hair in trembling excitement and looking around the meadow for a pool, a stream, a puddle even. Why didn't I bring a mirror with me?

Remembering a pond nearby, I head there eagerly, feeling impressed with my new senses. My hearing, sight, smell, have all been enhanced. This is better, so much headier, than the drugs the guys on the baseball team were passing around. As I approach the small stream, my footsteps slow down. It's probably too late now, but suddenly I feel nervous. My tail twitches. What if… How would I look?

Holding my breath anxiously, I peer into the still, aqeous surface. 

My face remains exactly the same, but my hair. Oh. My ha~ir. Again, my right hand comes up and my fingers card through the upswept spikes slowly, lovingly. Gone was the soft, limp, baby-fine hair. My hair is now thicker, wiry but still smooth. 

I love it. 

My hair is now black, sweeping upwards in a midnight flame. Just like Dad's, except that while his had a faint auburn tinge when the light strikes it just so, mine had a bit of a purplish hue. A remant of my Ningen heritage, I suppose. My *former* Ningen heritage. 

I had made a wish to be a full-blooded Saiyajin. 

Looking down, I see the other most obvious sign of my change. My Saiyajin tail. It is a rich copper brown, an almost metallic sheen to the glossy hairs, just like Dad's. My tail flicks excitedly before me, and then I open my hands and settle it on my palms. For a while, I just leave it there, enjoying the feel of the warm, heavy weight in my hands. And then I start to stroke the fur in wonderment, a delighted smile on my face, shivering at the sensual tingles, 

Is this what a full-blooded Saiyajin feels everytime his tail is touched? Is this what Dad feels? 

I sink to my knees, purring and rumbling in an almost orgasmic manner. I probably look like a fool; I know I'm grinning like one, but I don't care as I cuddle my new tail to my cheek. It's so soft, so warm — I inhale deeply — so very fragrant.  

Finally, I release my tail and remembering what Dad does with his tail, I coil it around my waist. It felt odd and doesn't seem to sit right, but I guess I'll get used to it. Crouching down and leaning over the water's surface, I examine myself more throughly. No, my facial features are not exactly the same. 

My eyes are slightly more slanted, and if I peer closely, the dark pupils look more slitted than round. Somehow I'm not too surprised; the muscle arrangement for slitted pupils allow finer motor control and hence, better night vision. My cheekbones are a little sharper, my brows a little more angular, my lips a little thinner. Overall, I look more like Dad then ever. A tad more exotic. More dangerous. More beautiful, more feral. 

I'm loving my new look more and more. 

I can't wait to see their faces. 

**~******

As I touch down on the lawn, I could feel their stares on me and I smirk. I had landed slowly, hovering for just a second longer than necessary before I contact the ground, knowing I was posing shamelessly and loving it. 

Mom approaches me first and I'm not surprised. She dives headalong into anything new with an almost dislainful regard for her safety; maybe it had something to do with the fact that she's been surrounded by inhumanly strong sensei all her life. "Who are you? This is a private gathering! My husband is the prince of Saiyajins and he'll have your ass if you don't…"

"Woman!" A low growl shuts her up and I laugh. God, I love my mom. It just like her to have figured out my race but not my identify.

"Boy?" Dad sounds almost incredulous.

"Yes, Dad?" I turn to face him fully, smirk widening. 

One of his brows quirks up, eyes widening in shock for a moment before he manages to collect himself. And then he throws me a mirroring smirk, his eyes raking over my body. "So this is the reason for the dragon's appearance."

I take a half-step closer to Dad. "What do you think, Dad?"

He looks at me, his expression melancholy and yet proud. He doesn't answer me right away, but stares at me with an odd faraway look in his eyes. Reaching up, he touches my hair, murmuring softly. "Do you know that all males in my family have hair exactly like this? It's a royal family trait; no other Saiyajin has it, and it always had bred true…" 

Until me that is, I finish the though unhappily.

"Are you pleased, Dad?" I ask him so softly, knowing that the others cannot hear me.

He looks at me, a lopsided tug on his lips as he breathes. "You have no idea." 

"Then I'm glad," I said, smiling widely. "I did it for you, Dad." 

Before he could say anything, a strong hand swings me around. "Bitching hell, Trunks! You look …fuck! Fucking fantastic!"

"Goten! Watch your mouth." Gohan grins at me, a curious look on his face. "But he's right, Trunks. You look great. Why did you do this?"

"Uncle Trunks?" Little Pan chirps as she tugs at my sleeve. Suddenly I'm surrounded and when I look around for Dad, he's gone. Sighing, I resign myself to well-meaning, excited friends. Dad probably would have slipped off by now and I can always look for him after the party. 

**~******

It is late evening and most of the guests have gone home; only the sensei remain. Gohan and Goten kept asking me about my transformation, and found my enhanced senses fascinating. I guess Kakarrot never told Gohan and Goten, well, he didn't get a chance to know his father. 

Dad steps out from the kitchen, Mirai a step behind him. Mom waves him over, scolding him fondly. "Where have you been? It's your son's birthday, for heaven's sake!" 

Instead of getting irritated as he often did, Dad turns to Mom with a serious expression. "Woman, I've something to say." 

Surprised, Mom keeps quiet. Dad is still facing Mom, but his eyes sweep the rest of the group, indicating that whatever he has to say is meant for all. Suddenly, I get a feeling of unease.

"Woman… Bulma. You've given me more than you should, and I should have been more than I am. I really wish you and *him* all the best," — Dad smirks at Yamcha — "I'll deny this if ever asked, but he is strong. For a Ningen."

Yamcha is torn between looking praised and insulted.

"Why, Vegeta..." Mom looks stunned and I know I am. Then Dad does something I never thought I'd see him do in public: he leans over and kisses Mom on the cheek, and then whispers something in her ear. Mom looks even more stunned but she recovers quickly and hugs him, whispering something as well. 

Embarassed, Dad pulls back and fixes Yamcha with a glare. "Take care of her." Yamcha nods dumbly. 

"Dad, you sound like…" I hurry across the room, really anxious now. 

"Boy." He smiles at me and I panic. The last time I saw him smile like that… "No, not a cub anymore, but full-grown. By Saiyajin customs, you have come of age today. I'm proud of you, son."

The last time I saw him smile like that, was just before he went to confront Buu. When he told me that he was proud of me, and then knocked me out. 

"Dad, what are you saying?" 

"I'll be leaving tommorrow, with Mirai." Dad shrugs lightly, as if he was saying that he was going for a short training trip. 

"Where? How long?" I ask numbly.

"Back to space. Years probably." Dad gives me what he thinks is a reassuring smile. "But I'll be back, Trunks." 

No… *No!*

**~******

When Dad heads back to his room, I hurry after him. "Dad, wait!"

"Trunks?" He pauses in his doorway and looks at me questioningly. 

"Dad… Can I come in?"

Of course I can; I've never asked permission to enter his room before. Dad merely raises a brow and I close the door after me. At least Mirai isn't in the room. 

I take a deep breath, unsure of where to start. Hm. Draw attention to my new appearance first. "How do I really look? You didn't get to say much just now."

"Good. You look good." Dad approaches me with a pleased, curious expression, his hand coming up to run through my hair. I almost purr at that touch and lean into his hand slightly. "You exhibit elite breeding; it shows in your hair and tail. Unlike the lower classes, the elites have certain characteristics such as hair styles that will always breed true. _Nu'ir Hir_ or Black Flame; it is a royal trait."

"So your father…"

"Had the same hair, as did his sire and his sire before him." Dad's gaze drops to my face. "And you look like him — my father — more than ever. You have always looked like me, him, but now, your eyes, brows.. You look fully Saiyajin." 

Pride flashes briefly in his expression before he looks away, embarassed. His attention drops to the tail around my waist and I unwind it, letting it drape trustingly over his open hands. As he checks it over, feeling the bones and stroking the fur, his tail comes up to hover in the air as well. "Strong, defined bones and good musculature. Glossy fur and clear."

"Clear?" I couldn't resist and take hold of his tail gently.

"Not blotchy. A consistent colour throughout," he clarifies. His absent-minded stroking of my tail is turning me on badly and I finally give up, rubbing up against him with a loud moan. Dad drops my tail with a flush. 

"Don't stop." Emboldened, I stroke his tail as if to show him just what I mean. A loud purr resonates from my chest and I give him what I think is my most sultry look. 

Startled, Dad freezes. A barely perceptible shiver runs through his body but before I could exult, he pulls his tail out of my hands. "Trunks…" — a shaky breath and a quick step back — "Perhaps there are some aspects about Saiyajin etiquette that you are unaware of, but tails are private. It is a source of pride and identification, but we don't casually go around touching others' tails."

"Why not?" I ask innocently. "You were holding my tail." 

"I'll admit it is my fault for being careless," Dad mutters stiffly, embarassed at his error. "And I'm sure you know why."

Looking at his now-folded arms and irritated stance, I know when to back off. I decide to change the topic. "Why are you leaving?" 

"Because you don't need me now…"

"But I do!"

"You're seventeen now," Dad says. "On Vegetasei, you would have moved out today."

"But…" My mind whirls and before I know what I'm doing, I step forward and grab his shoulders. "But I *need* you."

And then I kiss him. 

It wasn't at all how I had imagined my first kiss to be. His lips were warm and parted in surprise, but unresponsive. Hands push me back, gently but firmly. "Trunks, you don't know what you're doing and…"

Instead of moving away, I step closer until our bodies are almost touching. My hands slide down to his lower back brazenly and my new tail waves wildly behind me, musking the air. "I do know! I've known since… forever! I love you, Dad!" 

I blushed. That sounded so clumsy!

"Trunks…" Dad is trying to push me away without hurting me, I can tell. He could easily overpower me, but he doesn't and my heart leaps at that.  

"And don't give me that bit about my being your son," I continue in a low, persuasive voice. "I know about you and Mirai." 

Shocked, his hands still on my arms, his voice careful. "Then.. you should also know that I'm taken." 

"No! I refuse to believe that! I'm just like him, Dad, and.. and better. I'm a full-blooded Saiyajin, I can give you what he can't," I press him back until his back hits the wall. The air is thick with the musk of my scent and I'm purring, growling like an animal as I rub wantonly against him. He makes a strangled sound and I take it as encouragement.

"I made the wish — just for you. I'm as proud of my Saiyajin heritage as you are, and you deserve a full Saiyajin, not a half-blood." 

"Trunks, stop it. Mirai…"

I hiss fiercely, thoughts I never would have voiced spilling out. "That's why you had to turn to Mirai, right? Don't get me wrong, I love Mom too, but she's a Ningen. She can't give you what you want so you had to turn to a half-blood. But I'm better than him." Grinding against him, I could feel his stirring arousal. 

Suddenly, between one indrawn breath and the exhale, I find myself pinned to the wall. I've never seen Dad so angry with me before and it frightens me. His voice is soft, his tone furious. "Do not ever, *ever* call Mirai a half-blood again. Do not speak of things you know nothing of. Your mother is a wonderful woman, and my not being with her is of no fault of hers."

"I know you want me too; I can feel it. Smell it." Recklessly, I push against him, my hips rocking against his. And it's true. I know it.

"It is a physical reaction, nothing more." Dad scowls. "Stop this nonsense, you foolish boy."

"I'm not a boy anymore, you said so yourself!" 

"Yes you are, if you insist on behaving like this!" Dad steps away, his face cold and disgusted. "Listen to me Trunks. I do love you, but only as a son. There cannot be anything more."

"But Mirai…"

"I've never saw him as a son, nor has he ever saw me as his father. When I first met him many years ago, he was already older than you now." His visage softens slightly when he realizes how anguished I am. "I'm sorry Trunks, but even if I were not bonded to another, I couldn't …be what you want. I just can't see you that way, do you understand?"

"But I look just like him! I am him!"

"Not to me." Dad shakes his head stiffly. He turns away from me, in more ways than one, and an aching tightness grows in my chest. "I think you had better leave now." 

Numbly, I obey. 

**~*~******


	6. 6th scrawling, Mirai's POV

Author: Kiarene

Pairings: Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ

Published: 14th Febuary 2004

Archive? Please ask first 

Warnings Incest. Unbeta-ed.

Sons 

6th Scrawling

Mirai Trunks' POV 

Trunks had already left but I remain in the bathroom, where I had inadvertently overheard his confession. I didn't know how to react.

Initially, I was shocked that he felt that way towards Vegeta, but when I considered my own situation, though admittedly not the same, was ironically similar. Then I felt sorry for him and guilty that I was, in essence, taking his father from him. 

However, all that was burned away in the hot flash of my jealousy when he stepped foward to kiss Vegeta clumsily, and I had almost revealed my presence for nobody lays claim on MY mate, when Vegeta pushed him away. I had forced myself to remain in place, trusting Vegeta to handle him. 

Finally, still in somewhat of a stupor, I pad slowly across to room to my mate who is, by the looks of it, hardly any better.

"I take it that you heard," Vegeta says as he sit down on the bed.

"Yeah," I growl. "What a brat."

Vegeta looks at me sharply. "Don't confront him. He doesn't know what he's doing."

"Yes he does! He knew very well what he was doing, with the dragonball wishes and all," I bit back.  "He knew we were mated — he told me as much this morning after I left the room — but he still went ahead to make that wish..."

"He's just a boy, Mirai." Vegeta gets all protective and suddenly I'm hit by an irrational pang of jealousy. There's no denying that Vegeta loves Trunks; he spends time with the boy that my father had never been able to spend with me.  Even Goku, who was openly affectionate with Gohan when he was still alive, never gave his sons that simple but infintely precious gift. Time. 

"I think," Vegeta pauses, trailing off as his brow furrows in thought. "I think perhaps we should delay our departure tommorrow."

"Why?" I know I probably sound petulant. 

"I need to talk to him again, explain to him," Vegeta starts to remove his clothing for sleep. He stays on the bed while doing so, pulling the thin shirt over his head and squirming out of his pants, slim hips canting up and wriggling. I eye him openly, leering as I strip as well. 

"I don't want to leave on this sour note," he says quietly. "Trunks is as important to me as you." 

"Vegeta..." I hesitate as I climb onto the bed. "What *do* you think of his wish? I mean, what he said about... being a full-blooded Saiyajin..."

He raises a brow and I flush. "Ano..."

"You have nothing to be jealous about." He doesn't answer my question, not directly, and I feel silly. It's disgraceful. I am a full-grown man, a *warrior*, and I'm jealous of a whelp half my age. Vegeta and I have been together since *he* was just a squalling baby! 

"Sorry," I whisper as I cuddle beside him. 

The warm circle of arms around me tightens with a amused chuckle. "It's cute."

"Cute?!" I had never thought I would hear the prince of Saiyajins use that word! "Well, maybe if you were the one getting chased..."

"Shut up." 

Hands frisk down my sides, and I shriek like a woman, squirming desperately to get away from those *evil* fingers. When he finally stops, I am a huffing limp bundle under him, my wrists pinned above me. And he — my breath catches — he's looming above me with a wicked grin. 

"Oh, very cute," he purrs as he moves closer, and tastes, licks me. Devours me whole.

**~**

Some time later, I find myself out on the balcony. Vegeta's room has a little balcony attached, not big enough that he can grow a minature jungle like Bulma's mother, but just enough for him to take off and land comfortably. It is also just big enough for two people with a thick quilt to snuggle on a cold night.

My eyes are closed and the sun is warm on my face. I can see why cats love it. Suddenly, I feel a familiar ki nearby and I tense. But I pretend to ignore it—

"You think you're so great …"

—ignore it ignore it—

"You think, no way he'll fall for that brat, even if he is a full Saiyajin, even if he looks just like me except that he's younger and he's got a tail…"

—ignore it grrrr ignore ignore— 

Satisfying fantasies of strangling said brat dance tantilizingly before me. Or better still, turn that spoilt kid on my knee.

"You think you don't have to worry…"

I snap to my feet and pivot around to enter the bedroom so fast there's a faint crack in the air. I know it looks like I'm running and I can just *feel* his smug smirk but I know if I stay any longer, I'll do something I'll regret. Not that I will regret spanking that *brat* but that Vegeta would be pissed.

He flies off, mocking laughter tainting the air.

**~**

The house is quiet after dinner, and Vegeta and I are standing on the little porch behind the kitchen, talking quietly in the hushed tones people tend to take at night. 

"Do you ever think about looking for more Saiyajins, Vegeta? You know, to rebuild…"

"Hn." Vegeta grunts. "What the point?"

I *look* at him and he shifts uncomfortably. "How many can I find? Frieza had been through in his slaughter."

"But what if some survive?"

He stares up into the night sky, a hollow look in his eyes. Finally, he replies, "I cannot face them." 

My eyes widen in sudden understanding. He continues, voice like broken glass. "They all thought I would be the savior of our race, you know? I had thought so too."

"But…"

He goes on, as if he hadn't heard me. "And after Kakarrot killed Frieza, I… I didn't know what I did. For so long, my life had been consumed by the thought of killing him that I didn't know what to do after that piece of shit's dead."

"Vegeta, it doesn't matter who killed…"

"And one thing led to another; I was obsessed with ascending, then the androids, and then…" his voice trails off momentarily. "And then, here we are now. I should have been looking for survivors, I should have been rebuilding my race, but I didn't. I didn't want to think about it. I told myself that there was no point, that no one survived. And even if a few did, how could you possibly rebuild an entire race on a few?"

"There are techniques to splice genes for diversity and—" I offer breathlessly, my mind spinning with possibilities. 

Vegeta makes a dismissive, disgusted sound. 

"Well, I'm just tossing up ideas." I sigh and move closer, wrapping my arms around him. The night air is fragrant with nocturnal blooms. Peaceful. I regret bringing up such a painful topic. 

"But I wouldn't have you otherwise." He turns around and whispers against my lips. "So I don't regret it at all, the selfish creature that I am." 

"Oh." I trace the contour of his top lip with my tongue, enjoying the warm exchange of sweet breath. "If only…"

"Hmm?" 

Vegeta licks me, wet and slow. And I'm losing my train of thought. "If only you could have both."

"What do you mean?" He pulls away, kissing me at the corner of my mouth now. "Continue."

"If only you could have both me, and your people. I mean, I've a time-machine." My hands splay over his back, rubbing and roaming. "What if—"

"What if we went back? When? To stop Frieza?" He shakes his head. "But what then? Do we stay in that time? I don't think I could fit in; what about my younger self? Who would be the real Vegeta, who would rule? 

"And if we came back, what would we come back to? If Frieza never killed my people, I would have never come to Earth… We wouldn't have anything to come back to." 

"I guess I never thought of that." I frown. Looking up, I catch sight of an angry pair of blue eyes, in the window in the darkened kitchen, and my frown deepens. 

I kiss Vegeta hard. 

"I know what you're doing," he whispers when we pull apart, an amused glint in his eyes.

"Do you care?' I slide my hands down to cup the firm globes of his buttocks.

"Not really—"

"Good." Then I kiss him again, pulling him hard up against me and he gasps, a soft bruised sound. I imagine fondly I can hear the grinding of teeth in the distance. It isn't a kiss as it is a branding display. 

I tilt my head, eyes still wide open as I look over Vegeta's shoulder, and I catch *his* furious eyes with a smirk. 

**~**

I was just about to pass out, so wonderfully sated and limp, when I suddenly mumble, "I love you."

God. That sounded so …weird. I mean, I do love him but the timing… My arms tighten around him. Why should I care how stupid that sounded? It's the truth. Maybe I can write the awkwardness off to lack of blood in the brain, or lack of brain even, because it just all went south and out over my belly. 

Vegeta grunts and murmurs indulgently without opening his eyes. "Yeah, me too."

Reaching down to the rapidly cooling semen on my belly, I coat my fingers with it and trail the sticky fluid along the curve of Vegeta's neck and down his chest, and then up again to the other side of his neck. When Vegeta doesn't say anything but continues to lie there, breathing slowly, I grow bolder. Dipping my fingers in the drying puddle on my stomach again, I reach over and trace my name is tiny, squiggly hieroglyphs on his taut belly.

"What *are* you doing?" He finally asks slowly.

What am I doing? I smile and then started giggling softly. "Branding you as mine."

There was a pregnant pause, and my hand stills. Then he smirks — I can feel *it* in the dark. 

"Damn, I'm good. Must have really fucked you silly this time.

I giggle some more. Definitely fucked silly.

"It's like you're some animal marking territory." 

"Yup, exactly like that." 

"You don't have to, you know."

"I want to." 

"It's *sticky*," the Saiyajin prince whines petulantly. 

"You don't see me complaining about your come's that leaking from my ass." I hum happily, now wiping up the last bit from me and smearing it all over his cock. "Mine. All mine."

"Whatever." He mumbles sleepily, eyes closing again. "Shut up and sleep now before I have to hurt you."

"What could you do?" I ask cheekily, seeing how tired he is. For some strange reason, I don't feel sleepy now.

"Tie you to the bed posts and and gag you. Then I'll leave the dildo up your ass the entire night while I sleep." The prompt threat came back. "And I'll turn it *on*." 

Sighing, I wipe my fingers on the sheet and close my eyes, trying to sleep. I was counting his breaths, noting how they are slowing down, when another thought strikes me. "Hey, would you not bathe tommorrow? Leave my come on you—"

For someone who's supposed to be *tired* and on the verge of sleeping, he can sure move fast.

I *really* couldn't sleep after that. *He* slept like a baby, a smirk splitting his face.

~

And so it goes like this for a few days. Trunks taunts me and I retaliate. Razzing and sneering back and forth like two grubby kids on a playground. We weren't subtle, not us.

And Vegeta often snickers at us. 

Trunks is audacious — a touch here, an innuendo there. Every day that we linger here, after Vegeta had originally announced at that party that we would be leaving the morning after, he gets more smugly confident. 

Vegeta is amused, I am not. Vegeta insists that he's talking to Trunks, that Trunks is slowly coming around and that he's accepting our relationship. Vegeta insists that we *would* leave soon, but what's a few more days as compared to a lifetime together? 

Trunks is more accepting of us? Trunks will give up? I snort and roll my eyes in disgust. What an actor. But I grit my teeth and let it go because I know that brat hadn't a snowball's chance in hell. I am the one who's in bed with Vegeta every night, not him. 

Until I came out from the lab one night, where I had been tinkering with the time-machine, and I see them—

They're pressed against the side of the gravity room, outlined sharply by the bright moonlight, chest to chest, crotch to crotch. Trunks has Vegeta pinned, but Vegeta doesn't seem to be trying very hard to break free. 

I gawk, horrified and furious and I know I should be doing something but the neurons in my brain are all misfiring and my limbs just don't *work*.

"Stop it Trunks. I mean it — I don't wish to hurt you," Vegeta pants raggedly. One of his hands is pinned above him, the other is shoving at Trunks' chest. 

"Please, Dad." A muffled growl as Trunks kisses him. Trunks is shaking, large tremors rippling through his body, his tail whipping around wildly. I can even smell the heady phermones from here. 

Vegeta twists his head away. "I know it's overwhelming. It's just a physical reaction, just hormones you've never learned to control because—"

"Please please, oh god I'm so—" Trunks arches back, head shaking wildly, "—so hot Dad—"

"Ssh." Vegeta stops struggling and his free hand stops trying to push Trunks away. Instead he wraps his arm around Trunks, stroking his back soothingly.  

My vision abruply hazes red and I clench my fists, howling. Around me, the ground splinters.

**~*~**


	7. 7th scrawling, Chibi's POV

Author: Kiarene

Pairings: Vegeta/Mirai

Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ

Published: 25th March 2004

Archive? Please ask first 

Warnings Incest. Unbeta-ed.

Sons 

7th Scrawling

Chibi Trunks' POV 

Itching, sweating, buzzing like a thousand tiny bees under his skin--

I give another involuntary shudder, a little ripple that shimmies from the base of my skull right down to my cock. What the fuck is *wrong* with me? 

Steals another look at Dad under the pretext of wiping the sweat from my brow, but my glance lingers--

And see Dad looking back at me, a faint annoyed expression on his face and I realize I don't care. I don't care that I'm caught staring, that we're supposedly in the middle of a training session, that this would only piss Dad yet further on top of all the shit so far — I stare back hungrily, abandoning any pretense that I'm all right. That I'm not falling apart inside. That I'm not wanting, that I *need* him.  

"Trunks, if you can't concentrate..." Dad starts to turn away, frowning.  

The whine of the gravity winds down but the thrumming in my ears doesn't; it increases until I can't hear anything else but Dad. The muffled tapping click of his boots, his even breathing. I swear I can practically hear the thudding of his hearbeat… or is that mine?

The door slides open and cool night air wafts in, clearing the humid, sweat-laden air in the training room and I gives another shudder. Hot, I still feels hot. Burning, sweating. Can't think of anything but—

—touching him. Stopping Dad from leaving, holding him close, next to my skin.

"Trunks! Let me go." Calm, deadly voice. 

I shake my head. The world tilts and stretches into seriously bad geometry.  

A pause. Then, quietly, carefully, "Trunks?"

I ignore the question. Concentrate instead on what's really important, like licking a wet stripe from side of Dad's lips and under the curve of sharp cheekbone to ear. 

Shallow intake of breath, almost a gasp. This close, I can see Dad's nostrils flare as he sniffs hard, rapidly. Could feel him tense. Just had to lick him again.

"Stop it Trunks. I mean it — I don't wish to hurt you—"

I decide that Dad talks too much, but my hands were both occupied so I lean in and cover his mouth with mine. And Dad's mouth was still open so my tongue just slips in, like coming home, and god. Slick and searing and easy. Felt so right, so necessary. Like breathing.

But it's not nearly enough. Something's missing… *wrong*. My hands tighten and I press closer, squashing Dad against the wall in my attempt to achieve full skin contact. I'm shaking, panting hard and my tail is out of control behind me. Spraying the air liberally with musky phermones and I realize that Dad's not unaffected. His errection presses hard against my abdomen, stiff and hot, and a needy whine builds up at the back of my throat. 

Dad makes a muffled noise of protest and tries to push me away, closing his mouth and jerking his head to the side with a probably painful twist. Abruptly bereft of that gorgeously hot mouth, I follow like iron to a magnet and press my lips to his again, but he refuses me. 

"I know it's overwhelming. It's just a physical reaction—" 

I writhe, hearing him but not listening. His words just washes over me. Burning. I'm burning, moaning. My heart's jumping like it wants to break out of my chest.

"—just hormones you've never learned to control because—"

My tenous control snaps. "Please please, oh god I'm so—" 

Dad stops struggling, throwing an arm around me, crooning. My voice drops to a whimper, slurring drunkenly. "So hot Dad…" His hand strokes my back and he just curls around me. His touch is soothing and oh. Oh God. So good. I fold into him, seeking comfort, wriggling into his arms as I used to when I was younger, eyes tearing.  

"Dad…"

Suddenly, I'm torn away and flung backwards. Too stunned to react, I land clumsily.

Mirai. 

My lips twist, baring teeth. He snarls at me like a rabid dog and I stand up, growling my own challenge. His eyes are wild, his golden hair snapping in a static cloud around his head. 

"Mine." 

All I hear is the pounding of blood, the call of instinctive challenge. We've been skirting around this for days, but hell, for me it has been *years*. I will not wait no longer. Suddenly, everything falls into place — why I've been baiting him for days, why I had been acting like a bitch in heat. Why this all just feels right, like I *know* what to do next.

My smirk is ugly and confident. "If you're Saiyajin enough to keep him."

"You arrogant brat!"  A fist slams into my stomach and I barely manage to catch the other. An inaudible click, our eyes clashing for a second. And the battle begins in earnest. 

My blood sings. I was never Mirai's equal before in battle — he is almost two decades older than me — but tonight, I feel like I might just win this. 

Hormones like the highest grade octane are thrumming through my veins and I've never felt so *smooth*. Not power or strength exactly, but that feeling where your body is working just right. It's like being high, but better. Loads better. I remember experimenting when I was younger, moving from beer to hard liquor, then to various little pills, white and blue and all deceptively cute colours of the rainbow. Even as a half-Saiyajin, drugs couldn't really affect me, not strongly. Any of the so-called 'highs' I've heard about was transient and disappointing for me. 

Humans and Saiyajins are really wired differently. 

The fight continues. Mirai isn't holding back at all and I realize that I'm no longer looking at a weary time-traveller or some older doppleganger of myself, but the battle-hardened soldier Dad speaks of. I should feel worried, but I'm not. Still high on the power that's humming beneath my skin, I don't feel pain or fear, and I fight on, taking hit after hit and occasionally scoring a good one in.

A well-timed kick crushes my left arm against my side and I hear a sickening crack. I look down in surprise and bad, bad move. He kicks me hard and I hit a wall, plaster crumbling around me. 

"Enough, Mirai." Dad steps foward, a frown on his face.

"No," I wheeze out, swaying slightly before my equilibrium recovers. The fight *consumes* me and I know we won't stop till one of us is physically incapable of getting up.

"Not nearly enough." His eyes are hard, his tone low. I've never seen him like this before and I smirk. Finally he's showing some Saiyajin mettle. 

"Concede, Trunks." Dad says, a hint of worry in his tone.

"No." I cannot.

"Mirai…" Dad's frown deepens. "This is needless."

Mirai shook his head, eyes never leaving mine. "I don't think so. I think we *need* this. We've been needing it for a very long time."

"Come on then," I taunt as I float upwards, tail swinging. I don't feel the pain from my broken arm. 

He doesn't hold back. Ruthless, like he means to really kill. I should be terrified, but I think that part of my brain has shut off. All I can focus on now is fighting and my opponent. 

I'm fighting like I had never fought before, but I'm losing. Beaten back, bit by bit.  Muscles screaming, skin slick with sweat and blood. Both arms are useless now, cradled close to my body as I stumble clumsily to avoid his blows. And he draws it out, eyes feral and bared teeth blood-stained from a cut lip, as he pummels into me. 

"Vegeta is mine." 

"Mine, mine, mine," he chants, eyes glinting.

Starting to feel the pain now. Everywhere, god, oh crap, it hurts. Don't have the energy to retort — it's all I can do to keep breathing. To keep my eyes open.

And then.

It starts to sink in. I've lost. Lost Vegeta. I blink, eyes and throat suddenly hot, and I want to curl up. My movement falters.

Lost. I've lost. 

My vision blurs into a streak of red and I give in, closing my eyes. Suddenly so tired. We're not fighting now. When did we stop? Mirai drives in fist after fist, his voice a drone in the background that I'm not listening to. 

"...mine... don't you ever.... leaving... mine....dare to touch him..."

Instinctively, my arms have curled more tightly around my middle in a protective gesture, but then, it doesn't matter now. I don't care.

"Stop!" I instintively turn towards Dad's furious voice. Loud thwacks tell me that he's blocking Mirai's fists.

I. Lost.

"Stop it Mirai! Now." I don't think I ever heard Dad so angry before. My eyes are still closed but I can feel him next to me as he pulls Mirai off roughly and gathers me up gently.  

*Lost.*

And that... Hurts. Hurts more than anything else right now. Makes the agony in my arms and ribs seem like a paper cut. 

Makes the numb blackness that claims me a relief.  

**~*~******


	8. 8th scrawling Epilogue

Author: Kiarene

Pairings: Vegeta/Mirai, Trunks/Vegeta

Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ

Published: 28th March 2004

Archive? Please ask first 

Warnings Incest. Unbeta-ed.

Sons 

8th Scrawling

Vegeta rubbed his face tiredly, wondering how in hell he had let things get so bad. Freedom of choice has always been an issue from him — a result of his past under Frieza — and he was determined let his son and lover work out their frustrations by themselves. He thought that any interference on his part would be constituted as favoritism. 

When they had started fighting, he had stepped back, realizing the fight as something Saiyajin and instinctive. The proud royal hated when others interfered with his battles, even if it was with good intentions to save him, and he extended the same courtesy to his sons. And yes, they had been correct -- they both *needed* it. 

But *not* at the cost of his son's life.

Back on Vegetasei, such territorial battles did frequently result in death. A fact Vegeta accepted... when it did *not* apply to his son.

When the fight started, he had initially been amazed, then proud — he had never seen this level of intensity from them before. Mirai always held back, except perhaps against the andriods. It irritated Vegeta but he had accepted it. Oddly enough, while Mirai was raised in a war-zone and no stranger to life-and-death battles, something always held back from going all out during training. Perhaps it was because he was raised by Bulma or perhaps it was because he was not raised among Saiyajins. 

Trunks was different. Trunks never held back. He always thought that Trunks was more Saiyajin than Mirai. He knew that Trunks would do anything for him, he knew Trunks loved him -- he just hadn't realize... 

Vegeta's head snapped up as a faint groan issued from the bed. In quick fluid strides, he crossed the small room and sat down carefully at the edge of the bed. 

Trunks made another small moue of pain as he tried to open his eyes. Vegeta reached for a small senzu on the small table beside the bed and gently pressed it against Trunks' cut lips. Automatically, Trunks opened his mouth and started chewing the small legume slowly.

"Trunks? Are you all right?" Vegeta asked quietly. 

"…you know I'm not." The teenager finally replied sullenly. He kept his eyes on the thin blanket covering his body.

"No, I guess not." Vegeta hesitated, before picking up one of Trunks' hands in his own. "Trunks, what you went through—"

"I know. I guessed," Trunks interrupted, eyes drawn to the clasped hands. "It's some Saiyajin thing right?"   

Vegeta nodded, his thumb stroking the back of his son's bloodied knuckles. "Instincts are very important to us… and sometimes our desires drives us in spite of ourselves."

Trunks flushed. "I guess I couldn't control myself—"

"No!" Vegeta broke in. "No, Trunks. It wasn't your fault." An indrawn breath, ragged and sad. "It's no one's and everyone's fault, including mine. I am the eldest and I've been a full Saiyajin all my life. I should have known better. I didn't want to intefere, but I should have told you."

"Dad?" Trunks asked in a small voice after a long pause. "Did this happen often back on Vegetasei?"

"Yes. Yes, it did." Eyes far away in nostalgic memories, Vegeta began talking. He spoke of the intense mating urges that drove Saiyajins, the bloody mating challenges between competitors, the exquisite intimacy between a well-matched pair. 

"It all sounds so beautiful," Trunks murmured wistfully. "Savage, mediaeval, but beautiful nonetheless."

Vegeta considered his choice of words and smiled ruefully. "Strangely appropriate."

Trunks nodded earnestly as Vegeta picked up the bottle of water on the bedside table and took a long draft. "It sounds weird, but it just does. I love hearing you talk of Vegetasei; it all sounds so much more *real*, more alive than the life I know on Earth now. If Earth was a safe pink, I see Vegetasei as an exciting blood-crimson."

The elder prince grinned, looking boyish for a moment. He offered the water to Trunks but the younger declined. "A poetic comparison."

Trunks looked embarassed but continued, the words tripping excitedly. "I mean, after I made the wish, my senses felt awakened. Like they had been muted all my life but I'm only experiencing what I *could* be now. Like I had been underwater and I've just got onto land. Like I had been …incomplete before and I'm fixed now."

"Your Saiyajin half had always been stronger." 

Trunks nodded. "It — the wish — felt right. Now, I couldn't imagine living without my tail." He stroked his tail reverently.  

"Aa." Vegeta was quiet for a moment, thinking hard. "You *are* a full Saiyajin in my eyes, even if you've never made the wish. You are a Saiyajin in heart and in mind." 

"Really?" 

"Really." Vegeta scooted forward, pulling Trunks to him in an embrace. "I'm proud of you, full or half-Saiyajin." 

"Still proud of me even after my …recent behavior?" Trunks' voice was very small.

Vegeta made a noncommittal sound, his breath a soft puff against the side of Trunks' neck. "You went after what you want. I am not angry." 

"But I didn't get it. What I want."

"No." Vegeta rubbed his hands slowly across his son's back, knowing there was no easy way he could remove the knots of tension there. "I will always be Mirai's. Mirai's lover."

Trunks bit his lip, arms tightening around his father.

"And you will always be my son."

**~**

Mirai's head snapped up as the bedroom door opened. While Vegeta was with Trunks, he had showered and changed. The bloodied clothing, he had incinerated out of guilt. He was still angry and he didn't regret his actions, mostly, but still, he shouldn't have lost control like that.  

"How is he?"

"Fine." Vegeta shrugged, padding across the room towards Mirai and sat down gracefully on the couch beside his mate. 

Mirai eyed him dubiously. "Fine?"

"He has recovered physically—"

"That wasn't what I meant."

"—and I talked to him. About us."

"Us? *Which* us?" Mirai gave a frustrated scowl. "Damn it Vegeta! I'm not in the mood to banter now!" He dragged a hand through damp, tangled hair, wincing as it caught. 

"Stop that," Vegeta slapped Mirai's hand away and then turned, pulling his taller lover to sit between his legs. His hands glowed faintly with ki as he ran gentle fingers through the limp purple hair, the heat drying the thin hair quickly. 

"Us. Why he was behaving the way he was, why you reacted the way you did, why I didn't do anything."

Mirai purred, tilting his head back slightly as slim fingers raked soothingly along his scalp and through his hair. 

"And about how I will never leave you."

Mirai stiffened, and then suddenly twisted around to face Vegeta. His blue eyes were wide and shining. "You really mean that?"

"Of course I do!" Vegeta frowned angrily. "Do you think I'm with you for fun? I made a commitment and the word of a prince is not given frivolously."

"Yes, of course you do… It's just that…" Mirai trailed off, cheeks pinking. "It sounds silly but the past few days, ever since Trunks told you he loved you, you didn't do anything. To discourage him that is. I thought…"

"You thought that I was trying to lead him on as well?" Vegeta's frown deepened when Mirai gave a sheepish nod. Vegeta was furious at himself; he hadn't realize he had been hurting his mate as well. "I didn't do anything because I didn't think there was a need. We *are* leaving soon and Trunks knows that. I have been with you for almost seventeen years; I have never left and will never leave you."

"Oh." Mirai felt weak, a brillant smile breaking across his face.

"Trunks is my son. You are my mate," Vegeta said simply, as if the distinction was clear and obvious. "I love you."

A little wriggle and kick, and Mirai was lying right over Vegeta, kissing him desperately. "Love you too." 

"Mmm." Vegeta purred when they broke apart for air. "We're leaving tommorrow."

"We are?" Mirai blinked. "What about—"

"Trunks? He understands." Vegeta tried to pull his lover back down, but Mirai straightened his arms and looked down, eyes worried. 

"Just like that? What about… uhm… his feelings for you?"

"See, there's this useful invention called the time machine, and this interesting phenomenon called alternate timelines," Vegeta smirked. He had plenty of time to think while waiting for Trunks to wake up.

"Oh. Yeah, that's a great idea." Mirai smiled in relief. His eyes sparkled with amusement. "At the risk of sounding corny, I'm sure somewhere out there, there's a Vegeta just for him too." 

Vegeta groaned and yanked the purple-haired man back down. "That was terrible."

"Mock all you want, but I know you can be a sap underneath." Mirai growled and leaned in to kiss Vegeta's neck. "Admit it. You believe in soul-mates too."

Vegeta groaned again, but it was a more needy, hitched sound that trailed off as Mirai began sucking slowly at the sensitive skin at the side of his throat. He tilted his head back, replying shakily. "I'll deny it even under torture…. Just there, oh yes. Nnnngg…"

"Vegeta? You know, I was thinking," Mirai mumbled as he mouthed the arched column, licking and sucking. Vegeta made the sexiest little mews whenever he did that, even though the prince would deny that under torture too. "Should I make a wish too?"

"For what?" Vegeta ran his hands under the thin cotton of Mirai's shirt. 

"You know, so I can be a full Saiyajin too. To match you." Mirai slowed down, tensing slightly. 

"Doesn't matter to me either way." Nimble fingers danced over pebbled nubs that peaked immediately. 

"It doesn't?" Mirai asked, stopping together in confusion. 

"No. I might have thought so in the past, but not now. You're Saiyajin where it counts." Vegeta shrugged, withdrawing his hands to unbutton his mate's shirt swiftly. "In fact, while I'm a bit mad at you for beating Trunks up so badly, I have to admit that it turned me on too."

"Really? You liked it? The alpha-male possessive behavior?" Mirai grinned, his voice lowering huskily. He pushed himself up again, wagging his brows and leering playfully.

"Oh yeah." Vegeta peered up at him coyly under lowered lashes with a breathy exhale. His hands paused at one of the middle buttons. There was something alluringly submissive and yet predatory in his eyes as he wriggled *just* so. "So. Very. Saiyajin."

Oh. God. 

Something sparked in Mirai, hot and sharp, and he *smirked*. Looking down at Vegeta, a lock of purple hair falling rackishly over his face and his lips crooked in wicked smirk that promised. Promised something hard and rough and incredible. Something delightful and quite possible painful and Vegeta's cock gave a happy twitch. 

"Good." A soft, yet possessive edge, and that was new. Vegeta suddenly realized that he *liked* it too. 

Bracing himself on his knees, Mirai clasped one hand over Vegeta's wrists and pulled the bound hands over Vegeta's head. And then reached down with his other hand and ripped Vegeta's stretchy blue top in a fluid motion. 

Vegeta arched up, fluffed tail flicking wildly. Offering himself wantonly, eyes heavily lidded and lips curving up sweetly, and *that* display was only partly faked. Seventeen years and Mirai never got tired of looking at the perfect, slender body. 

Bending down, Mirai planted another soft kiss, his own mouth loose and relaxed as he slid his tongue searchingly over Vegeta's lips. "Gorgeous. You're so gorgeous like this."

"You don't let yourself go enough," Vegeta purred, rich and harsh with desire. He wrapped his legs around Mirai's waist. "I love it when you're stripped bare and primal. When you're out of control."

"Always afraid I'll hurt someone," Mirai groaned into the valley between Vegeta's shoulder and neck, tongue flickering out to taste the musk and sweat. "Mom always said—"

"Let's not talk about your mom when you're humping me," Vegeta squeezed his legs and his hips gave a particularly hard, sinuous roll. His tail snaked in through Mirai's half-buttoned shirt and swept over the exposed skin, elicting a full-bodied shiver from the younger male. "Anyway, your lover isn't a weak Ningen."

"No, he's a very sexy Saiyajin prince," Trunks panted, releasing Vegeta's wrists. His fingers hooked into the waistband of Vegeta's pants, and with a lascivious grin, he tore them off as well. 

Scraps of fabric tangled between their bodies. Vegeta rocked his hips impatiently, a hand reaching down to fist Mirai's erection in an obvious demand. "Come on, what are you waiting for? A red carpet to my ass?"

Mirai cracked a grin as he reached over to the desk beside the couch, fumbling clumsily for the tube of lube inside. "You're so demanding and pushy, even as a bottom."

Vegeta ignored him, slicking two fingers wetly in his mouth. He drew his legs up, resting one over the top of the couch and the other up to his chest. Mirai watched enraptured as Vegeta slid a finger into himself. The other wet finger worked in past the tight ring of muscle as well, a honeyed moan spilling from his lips as the two digits wriggled and found his prostate. His other hand stroked his cock slowly, molding it fully erect. Sooty lashes slid down further, eyes almost closing, as he fucked himself leisurely on his fingers.   

Mirai slicked his own erection absently, his full attention on the lean figure in front of him. Confident, even in a classically submissive position, Vegeta was still very much in control. Mirai decided he would very much like to see his mate lose that control. 

Crouching over the smaller male, he squeezed a large dollop of lubricant onto his finger and quickly slipped it in alongside Vegeta's fingers. A strangled yell and Vegeta gave a hard jerk upwards at the surpise invasion. Mirai crooked his finger, jabbing hard at the spongy nub he could feel and smirked as Vegeta yelped again. 

"Ohhh yeah like that… there…" Vegeta's eyes rolled back, mouth slack with pleasure as his own fingers started moving frantically with Mirai's. His other hand worked faster, pre-cum already smearing across the junction where the thumb met the first finger.

"Stop, not yet." Mirai pulled out knocked Vegeta's hands away. Holding onto Vegeta's wrists, he leaned forward and breached Vegeta in a smooth thrust. 

So tight, so hot. So very right. Like coming home and it doesn't matter who's on top, just the heated slide of skin on skin, just each other. Seventeen years and still new every time.  

Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut with a low groan, almost painful, but he opened his legs wider, thighs quivering, fingers clenching in their entwined clasp. Mirai kept his eyes open, sharp azure fixed on his lover's face. A heavy tail ran across his lower back and ass, the lush fur dragging across his slightly damp skin and Mirai decided then and there, he would make that wish, if only for a tail.

A bead of sweat dripped onto Vegeta, just at the corner of his lips, and Mirai bent down to lick his off. After a few deep breaths, Vegeta opened his eyes with a shaky smirk and bent his torso further, flexing and raising his legs to rest over Mirai's shoulders. The new position opened him up further and Mirai slipped, bumping against something that had Vegeta crying out. 

Hips snapped back and forth. Mirai suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear Vegeta make those sounds again. And Vegeta does, cursing and mewing and moaning and howling. Demanding for more, begging for harder. 

Something gloriously hot and tight coiled within, buzzing and sparking in its intensity, hurtling them along. Neither was in control now; Mirai was thrusting madly, desperately into that silken heat, and Vegeta was babbling incoherently. And then they were there, a few more jerky pumps, a tight clenching of entwined fingers and groins, and Vegeta arched like a bow, impossibly tight as Mirai stopped, hilt deep and quivering, waves of purest sensation crashing over them. 

"Urrhh." Mirai blinked fuzzy eyes. "We sh'uld move… bed…"

"Mmph." Vegeta agreed, a langorous smile on his lips. 

"Soon… 'fore we pass out," Mirai tried to say firmly.

"Yes." Vegeta could only summon enough strength for a decisive nod. 

"Or we'll end up with cricks in our necks when we wake up." Mirai remembered the last time that happened. 

"Move then." Vegeta sighed, and then buried his nose into the wonderfully musky hollow of his mate's neck and purred. "You're the one lying on me."

"Love you."

"Move."

"Mmhh."

**~*~**

Trunks stared into the mirror, fingers smoothing down his lapis blue tunic absently. He never thought he would look like this. 

Happy. Content. 

Mated.

He had been a bit of a sullen brat when he was younger; unrequited love does that to a person. After his father and Mirai left, he had sulked around for a while before deciding to pull himself together. Piccolo had a large part to do with that; the stern Namek abruptly showed up one day and slapped — literally — some sense into him. When the ringing in his head stopped, he realized to his dismay that he *had* been a whiny, immature brat.

His father left Mirai's time-machine with him but he hadn't felt ready. And he realized that it was because, subconsciously, he still knew he wasn't ready for Vegeta. In any timeline. When he showed up, he would want to impress that timeline's Vegeta, sweep him off his feet and… 

And he wasn't going to do that if he didn't *grow* up. 

He took three years. He spent some time travelling the world, and then he spent some time travelling the worlds. Mom had built him a spaceship, similar to the one she built for Dad, and he went, careful to head in the opposite direction he knew Dad and Mirai had gone. 

Finally, on his twentieth birthday, he woke up and went down to the basement where the time-machine was kept. Staring at it and knowing that, yes, he *was* ready. Mom was happy with Yamcha, their on-off relationship over the years finally 'on' again. In fact, Yamcha had proposed a month after Dad had left with Mirai, when he was finally certain that the Saiyajin prince won't be coming back to fry him despite his mother's repeated assurances that she hadn't been *with* Vegeta for years. 

Trunks snorted. What an idiot. But his mom was happy and she had Bura now. Trunks shuddered. Cute kid but god. It was fortunate that she was fully Ningen for she had her mother's quick temper and impulsiveness. 

"Trunks? Are you ready?" 

Trunks turned, a smile curving his lips when he caught sight of his mate in the doorway. "I've been ready ever since I met you, Vegeta."

The younger male flushed and Trunks strode forward, pulling the prince into his arms for a kiss. 

"Trunks… our clothes…" Vegeta protested weakly. However, his lips parted readily under Trunks' searching tongue and his hands clutched the front of the taller Saiyajin's tunic, crushing the fine brocade.

"Who cares." Trunks murmured amidst the soft kisses, arms tightening. Happiness welled up within him, warm and vibrant and golden, and he felt as if he ascended for the very first time. 

When he had keyed in a random coordinate, set to an alternate timeline so as not to influence his own, Trunks had been assailed by doubts. What if Vegeta didn't return his feelings? What if Vegeta already had another? What if he travelled a hundred timelines and … 

But all that was swept away when he landed on Vegetasei. To his surprise, the large red planet was still around; Frieza hadn't destroyed it. Instead, Vegeta's father — his grandfather, King Bejita, and god one would think one couldn't be further shocked when one was a time-traveller but still!  — didn't sign an agreement with Frieza. Vegeta wasn't handed over to Frieza and instead, the Saiyajins had been fighting a decade-long war with the ice-jin. 

Vegetasei was a war-zone, torn and plundered. The Saiyajins fighters were weary and outnumbered, but they never gave up. And when he met their leader, a prince too young to be in a war, he understood their devotion. 

Vegeta had been sixteen when Trunks landed. In need of a good meal and bath, a harsh scar bisecting his left cheek, clothes torn and armor cracked and bloody, Vegeta looked gorgeous. Trunks fell hard. Vegeta was just like his father, and also not like his father in a hundred small ways, as he was fond of discovering.  

Vegeta had been trying to gather the remnants of his troops in a losing battle when Trunks landed like a golden god. Neither side had ever seen an ascended Saiyajin in action, though legends abound. That afternoon, Trunks rewrote lore. 

"What are you thinking about?" Vegeta asked softly.

"Actually, about the first time we met." Trunks smiled sheepishly, pulling his lover onto his lap as he sat down. Vegeta knew all about his past and his time-machine. It *was* hard to hide his obvious resemblance to the royal family. "When I left Earth, I had grandiose dreams about sweeping you off your feet and then, I suddenly thought, what if you didn't return my affections?" 

Vegeta blushed again. "Oh. Well, you don't have to worry about that. You certainly swept me off my feet with your impressive entrance." He gave a shy smile as he rubbed nervously at his scar. "I had the biggest crush on you for days; I couldn't even talk to you without stuttering or blushing." 

"I know. It was so cute." Trunks grinned. "That was the reason I waited for days before jumping you."

"What?" Vegeta was torn between anger and embarassment. Trunks caught Vegeta's hand before he got bitch-slapped and wrapped his arms around his feisty lover. "You mean you would have told me earlier?"

"Frankly? I wanted to kiss you the first time I saw you, but I thought it wasn't the most prudent thing to do in the middle of a battle. After that battle, I actually thought of going to your bedchamber that same night."

"Why didn't you?" Vegeta struggled to get his hands out but Trunks only tightened his arms with a wicked smirk. Vegeta's tail lashed warningly from side to side. 

"You were blushing so prettily when you thanked me and you couldn't look me in the eyes. I was amazed; my father never blushed."

Vegeta gave a mortified moan, pressing heated cheeks against Trunks' shoulder. "Oh god." 

"*Days* I waited, I tell you. Days! Do you know how blue my balls were?"

"Good. Hope you were in pain, you lout," Vegeta pouted. 

Trunks mock-gasped. "You are so evil."

"Lots and *lots* of pain."

"My lover wishes me lots and *lots* of pain. And blue balls," Trunks lamented dramatically. "Does this mean he doesn't want to be my mate anymore?"

"Oh! The ceremony!" Vegeta cried, wriggling frantically. "Get up, we're late!"

"Don't fret. It's *our* mating ceremony," Trunks grinned as he released the prince. "They'll definitely wait for us." 

It took just a month to defeat Frieza but it took a year to rebuild Vegetasei to some semblance of civilization. Though they *were* mated, King Bejita was adamant on a public ceremony. Vegeta grumbled but surprisingly, Trunks was thrilled by the idea of publicly announcing his claim on Vegeta. 

It was a very Saiyajin thing to do. 

"How do I look?" Vegeta tugged at his tunic and short cloak worriedly.  

"Like you've been ravished," Trunks replied drily as he slipped an arm around his mate's. Vegeta glared and Trunks laughed happily as they walked out.

**~*~ End ~*~**


End file.
